Graveyard Dirt: Two Worlds and In-between

Strawberry Mug

I gave the last three to the old woman. (The last nicest three.) The last overripe plum, the last three nicest strawberries, a crust of stale rye bread, and a shot of apple cider. TEH-BEH YEAST-EH, BAH-BAH. (She's old, She knows what I mean.) Her plate and glass are sitting on the back step next to the wooden chair leg that we used to beat the ice off the outside freezer two or three weeks ago.

("YOU BROUGHT THE SNOW AGAIN," ITALICS SAID, AND I SNORTED, DUMPING ANOTHER BUCKET FULL OF MELTING SLUSH ONTO THE SUMMER GRASS. THAT NIGHT THE MIST SWIRLED AROUND THE LAMPLIGHT LIKE THE EXORCIST; I CAUGHT MY FATHER-IN-LAW STARING INTO THE DENSE FOG MUMBLING "IT'LL BE FROSTY TONIGHT" TO MY MOTHER-IN-LAW. SHE LAUGHED - "DON'T BE SILLY!" - AND BROKE THE SPELL. HE DIDN'T KNOW THAT SNOW PASSED THROUGH MY HANDS EARLIER IN THE EVENING, BUT HE KNEW.)

Then there were five left, and five - as we all know! - is a magic number. So those five, naturally, went out to the hedgehogs just after I spoke to the wind and cold, just after I invited Her to eat, just after setting Her plate of overripe fruit and stale bread and booze on the back step next to the sun bleached, wooden chair leg used to shatter a layer of overgrown ice off the outside freezer way, way too long ago.

AND IMMEDIATELY FUCKING AFTER FEEDING HER STRAWBERRIES, AFTER FEEDING THE HEDGEHOG STRAWBERRIES ONE OF THE OLDEST GODDAMN COFFEE MUGS IN THE FUCKING HOUSE SLIPS OUT OF MY MOTHERFUCKING HAND WHEN I'M DOING THE DISHES AND SHATTERS AGAINST ANOTHER COFFEE MUG ALREADY LOADED IN THE DISHWASHER.

THE DESIGN OF THE NOW BROKEN COFFEE MUG? THE DESIGN OF WHICH THERE WAS ONLY -ONE OF- THAT I EVER REMEMBERED SINCE MOVING HERE NEARLY EIGHT YEARS AGO?

STRAWBERRIES.